


A Different Perspective

by vylit



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-28
Updated: 2005-11-28
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vylit/pseuds/vylit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows Rodney isn't perfect, but John has mapped every line with his eyes, traced every curve with his tongue, and Rodney's body has welcomed him, fit with his in a way no one else's ever has.</p>
<p>For Pru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Perspective

John likes to fuck him in the dark corners of Atlantis. With Rodney's pants pulled down just enough, his face pressed against the cold metal wall, and John's cock sliding inside of him just slick enough to not hurt, it's friction that Rodney won't be able to ignore. He can't sit down afterward without feeling the aching soreness of being well used.

And John likes to talk, his voice low and gravelly, his cheek rough against Rodney's, leaving behind pink, sensitive skin that everyone else pointedly doesn't look at or mention. It's sex as much as the act itself, and it runs through Rodney's head even with he's not with John. “Fuck, fuck, take it, take it, fuck, _Rodney_.”

Just the thought of it can leave Rodney so hard and aching that he has to excuse himself from the lab, has to walk to his room and yank down his pants as soon as the door is closed, so, so desperate. He didn't know what the word meant before he met John, not really. He learned what desperate was in the halls of Atlantis, in John's room, in John's bed, and he can't think of anything but what it feels to be that uncontrolled, what it feels like to be wanted and so wanton. It makes him want to spend days, weeks, underneath, on top, next to John. He wants to be fucked and sucked and filled so much, so often that he doesn't remember what it's like to not have some part of John on him or in him. Something dark and hot and wildly complete and different from anything else Rodney has ever known.

* * *

Rodney knows that he should have seen it coming, it's easy to notice the clues in retrospect, but he hadn't expected it. Not from John.

John's military, attracted to Ancient floosies, and he's – he's _John_ : more than passingly intelligent, disgustingly charming, and surprisingly competent despite his California surfer meets good ole boy persona. 

Who would suspect John of – not seducing, Rodney isn't turning in his balls to enact out some role in a romance novel – but something like it? Like courting or wooing, but instead of flowers and candy – well, there was some chocolate that one time – it was more like “hey, I found this earlier, and it blinked when I touched it” and “I'm going down to the mess, want anything?” The hints were subtle, hidden in the way John would just raise an eyebrow at Rodney's yelling, how he would smile at Rodney, the right side of his mouth lifting higher than the left, causing the entire city, in a blatant show of favoritism, to brighten with soft, golden light and warm because John was pleased.

Rodney doesn't know when John become John and not Major or Colonel or Sheppard, but he did, and he won't go back. He won't fit into any of the places Rodney reserves for people, won't conform into something that Rodney can dismiss. And there was a time, before the sex, when Rodney had thought that he could get John out of his system, that it was just something physical – an attraction that was easily explainable. But now that he's been with John, now that he knows what it's like to have all that charm and attention and – and whatever it is that makes John so compelling, turned on him, Rodney knows he seriously miscalculated.

* * *

Rodney's in the lab, yelling at one of the new scientists – Rodney can't remember his name but it's something gender ambiguous like Taylor, Morgan, or Casey – because Rodney can only take so much idiocy before hitting his breaking point, and he reached it three days ago, when he sees that the underling is looking over his shoulder instead of being properly cowed.

He turns around, ready to give whoever it is a piece of his mind, because this is the lab with scientists who studied in the best colleges from around the world and that means they're probably doing something infantile like sticking their tongue out at him, when he sees John leaning against doorway with the smile on his face that reminds Rodney of porn and warm nights, thick and slow like honey.

“Don't let me interrupt.”

Rodney starts to say something scathing but doesn't get beyond the first vowel. He knows what John can do with that mouth, felt it last night, and John – that bastard - must know what he's doing to Rodney's higher functions.

“I found something on one of the lower levels and thought we might take a look at it if you're not busy.”

“Yes, because I have so much free time,” Rodney grumbles, closing up his work station and putting the most important calculations away so no one touches them and ruins his work with their incompetence. “It's not as if I have anything more important to --”

“Good,” John says, walking over and handing Rodney a paper he missed, his hands lingering a second too long, and Rodney shoves the paper in his desk more violently than he needs to so everyone doesn't see him shiver.

They head to door with John smiling at people as he passes and Rodney scowling at the relieved, grateful expression on their faces.

“I'll be back in an hour, two tops,” Rodney warns them before walking out with John beside him, their shoulders touching.

It wasn't until John and this – this whatever that's happening between them, that Rodney realized how touch deprived he was. And now he has more than he's ever had before and not just during sex. Rodney's just as addicted to the other ones: the hand on his arm, the brush of their shoulders together, the way John will sleep with a hand on Rodney's chest and his face buried between the bed and Rodney's back, his toes cold against Rodney's ankles.

Rodney was too smart, too determined to waste his time in grad school the way half of his class did. He didn't party all night or render his brain cells useless with some designer drug the chemistry geniuses cooked up. No, apparently addiction for him is a lieutenant colonel with ridiculous hair, an unnatural love for ferris wheels and football, and no sense of self-preservation.

* * *

John doesn't say anything when they leave the lab, walks past the door into Rodney's room without pause, and stops at the door next to it, finally allowing himself to turn around and look at Rodney when the door slides open.

Then John has Rodney's hand, is pulling him inside, the door sliding closed behind them. The lights are dim but he can see Rodney, see his eyes darken and his mouth part in anticipation, want heavy in the air.

And then John is leaning forward, his mouth on Rodney's, his hand palming the back of Rodney's head. Rodney opens for him – god, already moaning – and John can never get enough of this, can't put into words what it feels like. It's beyond words, like piloting a puddlejumper and the feeling he gets when it knows what he wants before he can even form it into thought.

And he doesn't stop himself from backing Rodney against the wall, gave up trying to slow it down, make it easy and simple some time after their first kiss but before the first time he took Rodney into his mouth. Rodney just pushes back with impatient movements, his body hard and soft and demanding as his hands scramble for John's shirt, pulling back just enough to get it over John's head and take off his own.

The skin between Rodney's neck and shoulder is soft and John bites down, Rodney's moans filling the room and the space between them. The skin darkens, and Rodney rubs himself against John, shameless and hot, setting off sparks that start at John's dick and work their way to his spine. Rodney gets louder, and this – this is what John misses when he has Rodney against the wall in some alcove; he wants to tape Rodney, wants to be able to hear this whenever he wants. 

“As much as I – oh god,” Rodney's voice hitches when John cups his cock through his pants, and John can feel the shudder through his hand, against his body, “like it here, I think the – the – oh _fuck_ \- the bed might be more comfortable.”

And while John would like to continue this, would like to push Rodney against the wall and fuck him until he can't say or think anything but John's name, that isn't the point of them coming here.

They move together, tongues sliding until they hit the bed, Rodney going down hard and John using the advantage to strip his pants and boxers off. 

Rodney's skin is pale, sun starved, a blank canvas waiting for John's mouth, so he gives it to him. Starts at Rodney's upper thigh and maps it with his teeth, licks the salty skin with his tongue, rubs his face against it, watching as the skin turns pink and vulnerable, and Rodney's voice fills the room with “ _JohnJohnJohn,_ ” and all he can do is drag his teeth against Rodney's skin and rub himself against the cool sheets, the friction good, but not good enough. His entire body is shaking, his cock pressing against his zipper, throbbing and pulsing, sending lightning quick flickers of pleasure through him.

“Oh god – oh, god, John, please suck me. I - _fuck_.”

The words break off when John takes him into his mouth, Rodney's cock leaking against his tongue, warm and salty and smooth, and John takes it as far as he can into his mouth, listening to Rodney's voice break like glass, desperate and sexy. And he doesn't know how he gets through the days without this, this feeling, the stretch of his mouth as Rodney pushes against John's hands, his hips desperately trying to get further into John's mouth. John opens wider, sucks harder, and looks up to see Rodney arching off the bed, his head thrown back, sweat dampening his forehead, his chest marked by John. And John knows Rodney isn't perfect, but John has mapped every line with his eyes, traced every curve with his tongue, and Rodney's body has welcomed him, fit with his in a way no one else's ever has.

John slides off Rodney's cock, licks up and down it until it's slick before moving down to Rodney's sack and the space beneath; he sucks hard, hearing Rodney curse.

“I'm going to fuck you now,” John pants against Rodney's skin, liking the way it feels against his lips, the smell of soap and Rodney and sweat.

“Oh god, _yes_.”

John raises up, a hand slipping under Rodney's back until Rodney turns over, gets on his hands and knees, following John's lead until his hands are gripping the headboard. John moves off just long enough to pull off his own pants and slick up his fingers and his cock, having to bite down on his lip to stop himself from making a noise at the feeling of his own hand.

Rodney's head is down, his breath coming in loud pants, and part of John just wants to stay here, wants to watch, wants to let Rodney let go of the headboard and wrap his hand around his cock and jerk himself off so John can see everything, but John is hard, so hard, and he has to – he has to be inside Rodney.

Rodney throws his head back when John's finger breaches his body, rubbing his ass up against John's cock and John has to pull back, the friction too good against his hypersensitive skin.

“God, just – just fuck me now,” Rodney moans, his entire body shaking, like he's coming part and fracturing into pieces, and John feels the same way, doesn't know how everyone here doesn't see it to, doesn't feel it when they're in the same room.

And then John pulls out his finger and is pushing inside, Rodney's body _hottightperfect_ around him, and he _has_ to grip Rodney's shoulder, has to push all the way in, until Rodney is surrounding him, his body opening and forming around John's cock, like it was made for this. And Rodney is making these noises that are not even _human_ , his body trembling and writhing against John's.

It's easy, so easy to push Rodney's thighs further apart, to thrust in hard, to hear Rodney's gasp and his own “fuck” swallowing the sound of their bodies moving together. And it's fast, too fast to be perfect, but John can't stop himself, can't slow down, can't draw it out with Rodney beneath him, thrusting back and moaning and driving him faster, harder.

He knows he must be leaving bruises, leaving marks that Rodney will feel for days, but that just drives it higher, makes him want it more, and he's reaching down, a groan escaping him when he feels Rodney's warm cock flexing in his hand. 

“Come on – come on, Rodney. Take it. Take it.” Thrusts turn ragged, and John's not going to last long. “Fuck, I want you to – I want you to --”

He jerks faster, jerks harder until Rodney is fucking himself down onto John's cock, swearing and tensing, his body gripping John's cock so _tight_ , and then he's coming, the warm wetness sliding between John's fingers.

John's hands are in Rodney's hair, pulling his head back, their lips and tongues sliding against one another when John feels his body tense and release, coming like breaking into pieces, like flying apart, pleasure licking its way across his body.

* * *

They're curved around one another, Rodney's heavy leg against his own when he feels Rodney tense. John breathes deep, wills his body to stay loose, and turns his head to see what caught Rodney's attention.

The room is spartan; there wasn't much John could take with him to Atlantis, and he hasn't needed much since, but War & Peace is on the nightstand next to a small stack of football tapes, and Rodney's staring at them like a foreign language.

“This wing is closest to the gate,” John explains, his voice sounding more calm than he feels, “and I talked to Elizabeth. We both agreed that the first team should be closer in case something happens. Ronon and Teyla's rooms are down the hall.”

Rodney turns, his forehead furrowed as he stares at John's face. John doesn't say more, but he can see Rodney calculating, drawing connections between everything, and he can spot the moment when Rodney understands. They can rarely spend more than a few hours together, have never been able to do more than doze together because of the awareness of what this could do to John, but Rodney knows the ancient tracking devices as well as anyone, knows how this gives them options. 

“OK, but we sleep in my bed; my back can't take this mattress," Rodney says, a smile unfolding over his face.

 

end.


End file.
